


Of Misogyny, Martinis, and Matchmaking

by whiskyandwildflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Annoying Patriarchal Bullshit, F/F, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Things of a Sexual Nature, after work drinks, lots of dorks in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15774915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyandwildflowers/pseuds/whiskyandwildflowers
Summary: In which Pansy and Ginny rage against the patriarchy, attempt to play matchmaker, and maybe fall in love along the way.





	Of Misogyny, Martinis, and Matchmaking

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote purely for me. I love Ginsy and they were so much fun to write. 
> 
> I hope you find some of this funny, and a lot of annoying bullshitty things are annoying bullshitty things that my friends and I have dealt with in the past. So, shared life experiences is a theme both with writing this and throughout the story.
> 
> Thank you so so much to Nifflers_n_nargles for the beta! :) Any remaining errors are my own.

 

The day that the Department of Magical Games and Sports was absorbed by the Department of Tourism, Wordplay, Art, and Travel was the worst day of Ginny Weasley’s life. Unfortunately for Pansy, as her new officemate, she was forced to listen to the Weaslette’s woes ad nauseum.

“The department’s called TWAT.  Twat, Parkinson. How did nobody in the Ministry pick up on that? Why couldn’t the departments just stay separate? How does cramming the both of us into this tiny office make any sense?”

Pansy looked at her over the top of her cappuccino, black nails tapping against her cardboard cup. “Well, seeing as there really is only one sport, it probably made sense to do away with an entire department. Rather a waste of resources, I think.” Pansy was not in a charitable mood.

Weasley glared at her. “Easy for you to say, Head Twat.”

“You have literally been ranting for an hour. If that’s an example of the department’s productivity, it’s no mystery why they decided to scrap the whole thing.”

“Wordplay. It’s apparently important enough to the Ministry that we designate _wordplay_ as a separate entity, but Quidditch can’t have its own department any more. It’s ludicrous.” Pansy silently agreed, but the goings-on of government rarely made sense. Pansy understood the way decisions were made—by men in a back room—but they rarely made _sense,_ and they rarely worked out fairly.

“Wordplay’s a lost art, Weasley. But I suppose you’ve probably taken one too many Bludgers to the head to fully appreciate that kind of subtlety.”

“For the thousandth time today, my name is Ginny! Just keep to your corner and file your nails or whatever the fuck it is you usually do down here in T.W.A.T.”

Weasley’s—Ginny’s—honey-coloured eyes were almost as fiery as her hair. Pansy just arched a brow and moved on to finish processing a grant application from a new group of textile artists in Diagon. The way they combined magic with Muggle techniques in weaving and dye was truly inspired. _If culture was money, Ginny would probably still be poorer than dirt._ Pansy thought unkindly, and then shook herself. She was trying with every fiber of her being to not be that person anymore.

“Look, Ginny. Loathe as I am to admit this, it likely wasn’t you. A lot of the departments with women at the helm have been cut or moved or had their funding slashed. Minister Hawksworth is the oldest old boy around. And I’ve been forced to work under that horrific and demeaning acronym for a while. I doubt it was an accident. Hopefully he’ll die soon and someone with less of a vendetta against our entire gender can step up.” Pansy wished death on old Hawksworth at least four times a week.

“That’s reassuring. And horrible. And unsurprising.” Ginny was violently shredding little pieces of parchment, probably imagining that she was ripping apart Hawksworth’s misogynistic liver-spotted face. “I wish Kingsley was elected Minister.”

“Shacklebolt? He at least would have been a little easier on the eyes,” Pansy said dreamily. Ginny snorted. “But, fair elections and all that. After the war people wanted change, but not that much change, and Hawksworth made some sort of insane pledge that all Butterbeer would cost as low as one Sickle in lieu of any actual promises. People are easily distracted in times of strife. And now we’re stuck with this barmy old arsehole.”

“They really need to instate shorter terms,” Ginny added thoughtfully.

“You can run on that platform. I’d give you my vote,” Pansy gave her a small grin. Finding common ground through the hatred of old men and patriarchy was a bonding mechanism as old as time itself.

“We might get through this alive, Parkinson.”

“If you’re Ginny, I’m Pansy.”

“Pansy, then.” Ginny shot her a lopsided grin, biting her lower lip as she did so. For officemates, Pansy figured she could have it a little worse.

* * *

Every Friday for two months, Pansy and Ginny met over vodka martinis and Firewhisky after work to commiserate over their Ministry-related injustices. It started as a one-off after a particularly frustrating day where they both had been condescended to by a junior employee who somehow thought his armchair knowledge based on what he’d read in the Prophet negated Pansy and Ginny’s combined 15 years of experience working at the Ministry. It was absolutely maddening.

Pansy had missed having women around to talk to, who shared a lot of similar experiences and frustrations. She spent most of her time with Draco, and while he was her best friend on the entire planet, he rarely _related_ to anyone on the best of days.

When Pansy decided to get personal with Ginny, they were both a couple of drinks deep and flushed to the roots of their hair.

“So you and Potter. Is that still a thing?” Pansy blurted out, sloshing the remnants of martini number three on the tabletop.

“Oh, Merlin. No. Not for years and years. He’s more like a brother now than...a sex friend.” Ginny snickered as she said sex friend. “Plus, I once caught him with Terry Boot’s hand down his trousers at a New Year’s Eve party.” Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth, as if that could keep her words from spilling out. Pansy roared with laughter.

“Better you than the Prophet, I guess. If it’s any consolation, while Draco and I were never _together_ together, I caught him with a cock in his mouth more times over the years than I would really care to remember.”

“Is Malfoy seeing anyone?”

“No. I mean, I think he might be shagging someone. He tells me all about his shenanigans in _code_ , like Mr. Rimjob-On-The-Knight-Bus, but there’s no one _special_ as far as I know. Only someone deserving of an Order of Merlin could put up with him for more than two days, I think. Or vice versa.” Pansy really was feeling kind of drunk. “He’s so particular about everything, never shuts up, and over thinks literally every aspect of every situation. And this is coming from his dearest friend. I love him deeply, but I’m not sure Draco is even the relationship sort.”

Ginny looked down into her Firewhisky, and Pansy thought the colour of it complemented her hair and eyes quite nicely.

“I know someone with an Order of Merlin!” Ginny jolted up suddenly. Pansy put a soft hand on her arm to steady her, and Ginny flushed a little more.

“I’m sure you do, Gryffindor that you are.”

“No, I mean...I always wondered!  And he asked about him a little while ago when he found out I was working with you and that we’re friends.” Ginny was rambling and gesticulating wildly.

“You’re making no sense at all. And friends, are we?”

“Yes, friends. I mean _Harry_. It makes no sense but it also makes all the sense in the world. Neither of them are dating anyone. And I feel like there was something there between them. They can call it enemies, but I think it was some kind of sexy tension.” Ginny now had a manic look on her fierce and beautiful face.

“Are you talking about setting up Draco and Potter? In a date way? Romantically?” Ginny nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, Draco is still obsessed with him. He ran into Potter a few months ago and talked about nothing else for a week straight, and I caught him staring for basically an hour at a picture of Potter in the Prophet doing something mundane like buying groceries.”

“Oh, Pansy this could be brilliant! We’re matchmaking geniuses!” Ginny put her hand up for a high five that Pansy dutifully ignored.

“Yes, well. I should be working a little harder on my love life, probably,” Pansy said and drained the dregs of her drink from her glass. Ginny was staring at her so intensely, Pansy thought she might burn alive from it. It was warm in the bar, and Pansy’s stomach was fluttering just a little. Just a bit.

“This is an amazing plan! I’ll grab Harry next week after work before he goes home, and you can make sure that Malfoy maybe _happens_ to stop by. We’re going to help our exes—yes, I know he’s not your ex—we’re going to help them find love. It’s very romantic and also very selfless of us.”

“I’ve always thought I should get into charity work.”

* * *

In the sober light of the next day, Pansy thought their plan was even more brilliant than she had the night before. _Of course_ she should have realized about the Draco and Potter thing. It was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes, and to anyone who wasn’t oblivious enough to believe that all of the animosity was because they were _archenemies_ or whatever they had told themselves over the years. You don’t stare at your archenemy’s picture in the newspaper while solemnly stroking your index finger over it. Draco was truly a disaster.

Pansy loved a scheme. She also loved anyone who also loved scheming, and Ginny was at her absolute best when she was hatching a plan, in Pansy’s opinion.  

Ginny was a whirlwind at work that entire week, practically exploding from excitement and whipping her blazing hair around so much that their office permanently smelled like the shampoo she used. Pansy was finding it a little hard to breathe lately.

Working with Ginny was distracting even before their plan had taken shape. She was always bringing Pansy cappuccinos and perching on the edge of Pansy’s desk, setting her Quidditch-toned arse right on top of the piles of grant proposals.

In between discussing their matchmaking brilliance and trying to make the arseholes in the Ministry with all of the money and power care about the artists and writers who deserved recognition, Pansy spent a lot of her spare time making lists of every man in the Ministry who called her “sweetheart” in a meeting so that she knew who to take down when she had the opportunity. She could have several plans in the works at once—Pansy was nothing if not a great multitasker.

By the time Friday reared its head, Pansy thought that Ginny was going to rocket off to Mars with the sheer power of her excitement.

“Keep it together Ginny, for Merlin’s sake. They’ll be able to clock our plan a mile away if you keep squirming around and acting all shifty.” Pansy gripped Ginny’s upper arms to hold her steady for a minute.

Ginny took a big breath and flushed a little underneath her freckles. She had a really little one right on her top lip, not that Pansy was noticing.

“Ok. Right. I’m going to go grab Harry. Go get a table at the spot around the corner.” Ginny flew off like a shot down to the Auror department, leaving a floral-scented cloud in her wake that made Pansy feel a little fuzzy.

* * *

The Plastered Pixie was their watering hole of choice. Pansy didn’t think Draco would be caught dead there, but it was a risk she was going to take. She cast a quick Scourgify at the table, hoping to blast away any lingering stickiness, although Draco could complain loudly about lesser things than a sticky tabletop.

Ginny came in dragging Potter behind her, who looked annoyingly earnest and rather fit in his crimson robes, but whose hair made it look like he’d been shagged thoroughly in a Hippogriff’s nest. They slid into the booth opposite Pansy.

“Hullo, Parkinson.” Potter was a man of few words. Ginny swatted him on the arm.

“Hello to you too, Potter. How goes the dark wizard catching?”

“Er, fine? It’s fine. Good!” He wasn’t giving her much to go on.

“Right. Okay, well I’ve got first round so let’s get this going shall we. Firewhisky for you Ginny, I know.” Ginny gave Pansy a little wink which made Potter frown slightly. “Potter, let me guess…ale?” He nodded in the affirmative. As she made her way to the bar, Pansy could see Potter talking intensely at Ginny who was rolling her eyes at him. He didn’t even know the half of what was in store for him that evening.

Pansy and Ginny told Potter about how that absolute dickbag Hawksworth was trying to start a strict dress code for the Ministry that was a thinly veiled attempt to force all of the women  into high heels.

“But you wear them anyway, right?” Potter offered carefully.

“I wear them because I _want_ to Potter. Not because I _have_ to. Imagine if they had a rule that was basically forcing you and all of the other men into thong underwear? It’s okay if you want to wear it, but nobody should force you.” Potter turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and Ginny cackled.

“No. This is not happening. This is not a thing that is happening right now.” Pansy turned at the voice behind her to see an especially pointy and disgruntled Draco.

“Draco! Nice of you to finally join us, darling. You know Ginny! And you know Potter.” Potter, who was practically vermilion from the thong conversation, was wide-eyed.

“Pansy, my former friend. This is a very unbecoming betrayal.” Pansy grabbed Draco by his bony elbow and hauled him into the booth. He huffed and looked distinctly like a very angular and ruffled baby bird who had fallen from its nest. “What could you three possibly be talking about?”

“Work, play, Potter in thong underwear,” Pansy offered and Draco choked a little on his own saliva.

“Gin. Get me gin. Get me so much gin, Pansy, if you want me to stay.” Potter lept from the table, knocking over some empty glasses.

“I’ll go! Next round is mine,” Potter practically yelled and scrubbed his hand through his mess of hair.

“You’re both rather tetchy this evening. Can’t we all just share a drink like mates?” Ginny bounced in her seat and gave Draco her patented lip-biting grin. Pansy felt her stomach swoop a little.

“Like mates,” Draco repeated.

“One drink, Draco. You might actually enjoy it, Merlin forbid.”

Potter came back, levitating their drinks as he went. Ginny reached across the table and brushed her hand on Pansy’s sleeve. “You had a little bit of fluff there.” Draco and Potter looked at them blankly.

“This is interesting,” Draco started slowly.

“So Malfoy, how’s it going?” With Draco’s arrival, Potter was practically verbose.

“I’m just splendid, Potter. Having a cracking good time over here. And I’m sure you’re just knee deep in damsels in distress.”

“Why is it always damsels? Draco, I feel like you’re in distress more than I am usually. More than the average person, surely. Remember your hair potion crisis two weeks ago?” Pansy’s first love was annoying Draco. He glared at her.

“My hair was _brown_ , Pansy.”

“It—er, wasn’t that bad. I mean, I assume it wasn’t so bad. Couldn’t have been that bad,” Potter stammered. Draco glared at him intensely. Potter was so weird, but this was going to work. Pansy could feel it.

* * *

The next week, Ginny and Pansy sat on the same side of the booth, forcing Potter and Draco to sit next to each other. The conversation was still awkward and prickly, but both Potter and Draco had shown up again, which was extremely promising.

Quidditch was a topic of conversation that interested three quarters of their table, so Pansy was willing to overlook her own disinterest for the sake of their cause. It didn’t hurt that while she was listening, Ginny had rested her head against Pansy’s shoulder. Pansy twirled the ends of Ginny’s bright hair around her finger idly.

Ginny was bouncing her leg under the table, wiggling around more as the conversation turned heated and she and Potter and Draco argued about the Tutshill Tornados. Or maybe the Montrose Magpies. Pansy couldn’t be entirely sure.

“Merlin, don’t you ever stop moving for two seconds.” Pansy put her hand on Ginny’s leg to stop it from jiggling around. Ginny lifted her head from Pansy’s shoulder suddenly. Three pairs of eyes turned on Pansy and her cheeks filled with heat. Ginny stopped moving, so Pansy removed her hand and cleared her throat.

“Sorry, I—” Pansy started

“Pansy, are you quite alright? I think the vodka has you a little flushed.” Draco was giving her a very smug and self-satisfied look. “You’re glowing, darling.”

“Draco, _darling_ , I’m sure the only one glowing here is you. Potter, your sweater is really fetching. Brings out your eyes. What colour would you call that?” Draco scowled.

“Um, green? It’s green.”

“It’s clearly jade, Pansy, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Draco interjected haughtily. Potter was looking at Draco as if he was a particularly interesting puzzle to solve. For only two double dates, this was going swimmingly. Not that it was a double date. Not really.  

Ginny smiled at Pansy radiantly, and her brilliant expression was pressing against something very tender inside Pansy. “It was okay, you know,” She said quietly into Pansy’s ear, breath brushing hotly against her neck. “The leg thing was okay. You can touch me.”

These goddamn Gryffindors were too much to handle. Pansy suddenly had a lot more sympathy for Draco.

* * *

On Friday, neither Potter nor Draco showed up for drinks. Potter had a “work thing” and Draco had a “none of your business” thing.

“This is nice though, isn’t it? Just you and me.” Ginny swirled her Firewhisky around in her glass.

“You bint, we work together all day just you and me.” Pansy couldn’t help the fond tone creeping into her words.

“Yeah, but this is different. Us not at work! Just you and me, having a drink.”

“Just one tonight, though. I don’t really feel much like drinking.” Pansy was afraid to get too comfortable or too tipsy around Ginny, in case her embarrassing crush decided to make an appearance and ruin things.

“Did you want to  do something else? We could switch it up a bit.”

“One martini won’t kill me, but we can see where the night takes us. Draco learned how to set up one of those Muggle telly things and he set one up for me, so we could go back to my place and watch something.” Pansy was too nervous to get drunk and yet here she was, idiotically inviting Ginny over to her flat.

“Yeah, that’d be cool! So I’ve been telling Hermione about all of the awful shit we put up with at the Ministry.”

“What did Granger have to say about it?”

“Oh, she’s absolutely livid. She’s studying law right now and had some horror stories about her classes too. She wants to help us start a formal complaint process.” Granger might have been annoying in school, but she was a formidable ally to have in your corner. She was also the only person besides Draco who seemed to have a fetish for badge making. Pansy felt a twinge of sadness—it was so depressing that what was bringing them all together was their horrible shared experiences. Pansy said that to Ginny.

“Well, no matter what it took to bring us together, I’m just glad that it did. D’you want to get out of here?” Ginny drained the last of her drink. Pansy looked on, suddenly wanting to play connect-the-dots with Ginny’s freckles using her tongue.

They exited the bar right into the warm night. “It’s so nice,” Pansy sighed. “Do you mind if we walk? I could also maybe use the exercise after sitting at a desk all week.”

“I disagree about the exercise, but a walk would be nice.” They walked along quietly, which was strange since Ginny was rarely silent. Pansy could feel a nervous energy radiating off her, like she was about to burst. The backs of their hands brushed as they strolled, and every time Pansy felt like a burst of pure magic was burning through her veins. Ginny stopped.

“Pansy—it’s not just me, right?” Pansy looked down into Ginny’s bright brown eyes and at the constellation of freckles spattered across her cheeks. She looked down at Ginny’s soft pink mouth, her bottom lip bitten by even, white teeth. Pansy put a hand on Ginny’s shoulder while the other hand cupped her cheek, her thumb running tracing across every tiny freckle.

“It’s not just you.”

Ginny launched herself fiercely up at Pansy, her mouth soft and warm and tasting of cinnamon. Pansy ran her tongue across the tiny freckle on Ginny’s upper lip, which had featured prominently in some of the more interesting dreams she’d had as of late. Ginny tangled her hands in Pansy’s sleek hair, and pushed every ounce of her energy into kissing Pansy. She was a fireball personified, and Pansy was caught in the blaze.

They pulled away when two men started wolf whistling at them. Ginny flipped them off and turned back to Pansy.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while. Since before the plan—when it was just us every Friday at the bar. At work all I can think about is kissing you! It’s been killing me. You’re so smart and lovely and funny. I just want to kiss you and touch you and make plans with you.” Ginny was going on and on and on, and Pansy never wanted her to stop.

“Let’s go watch some telly.” Pansy grabbed Ginny’s hand.

“Was that a euphemism?” Ginny waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Pansy rolled her eyes. Ginny kissed Pansy one more time, laughing into her mouth a bit and knocking their teeth together, and then started dragging her down the street.

* * *

It was a very interesting week at the office, filled with heated glances and hands slipped surreptitiously up skirts. Pansy and Ginny were trying to keep their new relationship—if that’s what it was—under wraps. Pansy was secretly afraid it would burn bright and hot, but fade away quickly. She wanted to keep it close to her chest, away from speculation and scrutiny.

By Friday, it was hard for them to be in the same room together without touching a little bit. They certainly took advantage of the outdated notion that it was more socially acceptable for women to be tactile with one another than it was for men.

Draco and Potter were waiting in their usual booth, on the same side, and deep in conversation. Pansy cleared her throat.

“Are we interrupting? We can come back later,” she said snidely as she slid in across from them. Draco coloured and Potter scratched the back of his neck.

“Hello to you too. Potter and I just happened to arrive at the same time, which happens when you arrange to meet people at 7:00. People tend to arrive at 7.”

“Hi Pansy, Hi Ginny. You guys sit, I’ll buy. Draco I—er—I could use some help carrying the drinks if you don’t mind coming with.” Pansy and Ginny looked at each other, silently mouthing _Draco_.

Draco huffed and rose to slide out of the booth. “Fine. If I must.”

When they were alone, Pansy and Ginny burst into a fit of laughter.

“Draco? What on Earth was that?” It was unnatural, like watching a cat walk on its hind legs.

“Harry is acting _so_ weird tonight already! He’s always a little bit awkward but, Merlin.” Ginny could barely get the words out, she was laughing so hard. Her hand was on Pansy’s knee under the table,  rubbing little circles with her thumb.

Five minutes turned into ten. Then fifteen. The bar wasn’t even crowded, and when Pansy looked over, Potter and Draco weren’t even there.

“I think we’ve been ditched—look!” Pansy gestured over to the bar.

“Those absolute wankers! D’you think they left? Like they actually _left_ us here? I’m not waiting around. It’s been almost twenty minutes—we can bloody well go back to your place and be alone. Much better than sitting here waiting on those arseholes!” Ginny looked irritated, but Pansy didn't hate the idea of the two of them having a night in alone.

As they left the bar and rounded the corner, Ginny’s arm around her waist and nose nuzzling distractingly across her neck, a familiar voice from the alley behind the bar caught Pansy’s attention.

“What—” Ginny started.

“Shhh, listen!” Pansy hissed and dragged Ginny in the direction of the noise.

There in the filthy alley were Potter and Draco, snogging furiously. Draco had Potter pressed up against the brick of the building, his knee pressed in between Potter’s legs and his hands curled in Potter’s ridiculous hair. Potter’s hands were also occupied, sliding up Draco’s back underneath his shirt.

“Oi, you two, break it up!” Ginny called over to them. Potter and Draco sprang apart, looking mortified.

“Well you weren’t exactly being subtle, so you shouldn’t be surprised that someone snuck up on you,” Pansy said, not even bothering to hide a wide grin.

“Looks like our plan worked!” Ginny shouted, pumping her fists in the air triumphantly.

“What do you mean, _your_ plan? I rather think _our_ plan was the one that worked, seeing as you two were looking quite cozy in that booth,” Draco said, looking far too smug for someone whose neck was covered in love bites and whose shirt was half unbuttoned in an alleyway.

“You two were basically shagging in an alley. _Our_ plan to set you up worked quite nicely.”

“Potter—Harry—and I have been shagging for months. Secretly. Before you two ever started working together.” Potter made a harassed noise and thunked his head against the brick.

“Wait—you mean that Mr. Shag-in-the-Leaky-Cauldron-Loo was Potter? And Mr. Blowjob-in-the-Ministry-Lift was Potter? And—”

“You told her about that?” Potter hissed. Draco held up his hand.

“Yes. All of my salacious sexual adventures as of late were all with Potter. You were titillated with tales of Potter. Happy?”

“I wasn’t _titillated_. And you should’ve told me!”

“I didn’t—we didn’t know—look. We saw the sparks flying between you and Ginevra and decided to keep this to ourselves.”

“Don’t call me Ginevra,” Ginny mumbled petulantly, completely ignoring the matter at hand.

“We’re all such idiots,” Potter said. Pansy had to agree.

“Well, it all worked out, didn’t it? You two are together, and we’re starting something, and it’s the best!” Ginny was a beacon of positive energy.

“We, um, haven’t talked about if we’re really together. It’s not—” Potter started to colour even further.

“We’re together, Potter,” Draco said dismissively, and Potter couldn’t hide the pleased expression on his face. “And for the record, it was _our_ plan.”

Pansy would let Draco have this one. She was too happy to care, and she was also working on a longer-term scheme involving a possible Christmas party on a Muggle bus, so she would get him back eventually.

* * *

With Granger on the case, things were progressing swiftly and in a positive direction for Pansy and Ginny at work. They were compiling reports and gathering statements from other women around the Ministry. After months of trying to make people give a shit about the work she was doing, the prospect of maybe being able to enact real change and _make_ their voices heard and _make_ people see that their treatment was unfair was intoxicating for Pansy.

“I feel like we could do anything if we try. We’re unstoppable” Ginny had murmured against her lips late one night. Pansy didn’t want to get her hopes up, but she was finally trying to do some good, and being with Ginny was _so good._ For a woman who had largely thought her life would consist of a loveless marriage and no career to speak of, Pansy was excited to try and make a difference.

Pansy’s list of all of the awful things that had been done to her and others might actually have some kind of impact. She had spent a lot of time trying not to seem  _vindictive_ or  _bitchy_ at work. Now, she was finding that she cared less and less about that.

These bright spots of hope were sometimes  few and far between, but Pansy was determined to conquer the world—for herself, for the woman she might love, and for other women who needed her voice. She was very effective with a plan, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://whiskyandwildflowers.tumblr.com)


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